Contradiction
by Senko Wakimarin
Summary: Yaoi Legato, like some odd sort of sickness, has begun to effect Knives in some strange ways, leaving the Plant's mind a buzz with confusion, pondering the contradiction of the servant's very name, and perhaps the one dwelling in himself.


Contradiction

A/N: Not really a song fic, I was inspired by a Nickleback song, and I wanted to use a few quotes in the fic (the ones responsible, blame them!) in a few places. They're all from "Figure You Out" by Nickleback. Please review.

Warnings: Song fic-esque, Strange, Smut, Hey- Look-I wrote a Lemon! (TWICE!)

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_I like your pants around your feet An' I like the dirt that's on your knees_

_An' I like the way you still say please _

_While you're looking up at me_

_You're like my favorite damn disease_

_- Figure You Out, Nickleback_

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Contradiction… he is a contradiction. Everything about him contradicts itself. Even his name. Legato…

The smell of him intoxicates me. I don't know why, I don't know how he does it, but there are these moments when I forget what he is and I can't help what he makes me do.

I like the way it feels, when I loose control. How our flesh meets and it feels the same, how he touches me unconsciously with his own hand and it feels wonderful. I forget he's a human, and I'm a Plant, we're both hungry flesh; half of one creature, starving to be whole, and we move together, each consumed by the other, and I'm happy.

I don't like the way it feels after, dirty, like he's… contaminated me.

I don't know which is right any more, and it's wrong that I should question myself like this for him, and yet I do.

I remember vividly the first time it happened. He was sleeping in the living room, long hours catching him unawares while he read, and something about the way he sat; head leaning to rest on his right shoulder, the book still clutched in one hand, blue hair falling to cover more of his face than usual, broke what ever had kept me from noticing the strange beauty of Legato. Without thought to what it would lead to later, I moved to the couch and pinned his body there, straddling his legs with my own. His eyes snapped open and he looked at me with owl-esque golden eyes. I had him by the shoulders, sitting on him and pushing him back into the couch.

"I want you." I whispered. The words slipped out of my mouth with out warning or thought, but it was okay because I was already kissing him. He was motionless through it, though I knew he wanted it. I broke the kiss and looked at him.

I'll never forget the look he returned me; it was afraid and hopeful, yet still empty. "Master I believe you are ill." Was all he said.

I smacked him, though there wasn't nearly as much force in it as there normally was. "No. I'm not ill, and if I am it is from desire. You will be my cure."

Legato did not look at me still but this time when he spoke it was much more agreeable. "Then I do not recommend such activity out here."

I pulled him from the couch by his wrist and through the halls, reveling in this strange feeling. There was lightness was in my head and tightness in my chest, the very house around me seemed to spin. Legato followed behind me willingly enough. I never thought about if he didn't want it; I knew well enough that he did.

When we reached my chambers I ushered him through the door, and followed after him. He was still holding the book, only now it was clasped in both hands. I pried it gently from his fingers and set it on my dresser before pulling him into another kiss. This euphoria I experienced blossomed anew each time our flesh brushed, and I pulled him onto the bed. He lay there, letting me kiss him, complying but not assisting as I removed his clothing.

He acted impassive, but I had long sense learned to read his emotions, not his actions. He wanted this, wanted more, but he wasn't supposed to, and he was afraid. He strained to keep from moaning when I touched him, but he couldn't stop his skin from shuddering in pleasure. He tried not to react to my kisses and petting, but he was short of breath and so damn _hard_.

"Move, Legato. Move with me." I ordered. My hand went to his cock, stroking up the underside. He drew a sharp breath and arched into my hand. I leaned down and kissed him, this time he kissed back.

It was the submission, combined with the need in that kiss that drove me over the edge. I broke away, leaving him glazed and weak. His eyes followed me as I moved off the bed, peeling my clothing off. When I was free of the body suit I climbed back into the bed, this sweet feeling of happiness reaching new heights.

I ran my hand up his leg; it was smooth and pale, beautiful. He spread his legs for me, looking as though he expected me to start hitting him, or perhaps for him to wake up.

"How can you be beautiful?" I asked, surprising myself by speaking aloud. He looked away from me.

"I am not." Was all he said; now refusing me is eyes. Even now he kept one side of his face hidden beneath his hair. I gripped his chin and turned his head to face me, using my free hand to push the hair out of his eye. He seemed to shrink from this loss of cover, but I smiled.

"You should smile." I said, and again I didn't know why. I reached over to my bedside table and grabbed a little jar of lotion, pulling the top off. I dipped my fingers in, coating them in the slick, faintly scented lotion, before sliding my hand down to his entrance. He winced visibly when my finger entered him, but again he arched into the touch. He moaned when I pressed the second finger in, both eyes sliding halfway closed.

When I removed my fingers, he bit his lip as though to hold back a sound. I handed him the lotion, and he looked at me with confused understanding. I nodded and he dipped his fingers into the jar, then set it aside and looked at me uncertainly. Again I nodded, and he reached cautiously to my now hard cock. Again there was this look about him, as though he suspected this were some sort of trick and I was going to hurt him. His fingers lightly brushed my erection, dancing over it and I let out a sharp gasp. Seizing his wrist I forced him to make more contact, stroking his hand up my length.

Finally I deemed the deed finished and he withdrew his hand, lying back on the bed. I lifted his legs and positioned myself over him, watching his face. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out over his forehead, on his nose, and his eyes were hazed now in passion instead of a well-maintained emptiness. I slid into him, my stomach pinning his erection between us, my lips now pinning back Legato's cry. I pulled out and slid back in, slowly, and he moaned, his eyes begging for more.

Endurance was not high on my list of virtues right then, but I suppose it was even lower on Legato's. He came hard enough to spread the sticky fluid up our chests, and somehow that was enough for me. The idea that I had made him come, had given him that pleasure sent a fresh bolt of euphoric exhilaration through me. He was moaning softly beneath me and I thrust into him, finding my own release.

He fell back against the bed, azure hair splaying out around his face; eyes closed. I let him fall asleep; the after shock of what I'd just done hitting me full force. I cleaned him up as best I could; now instead of that bliss I felt confusion. I wanted to hurt him for letting this happen, but I was my fault. To hurt him for that would be irrational. I'm not crazy; I know the difference between righteous anger and irrationality.

After sliding back into my suit, I left the room to him, taking my anger elsewhere. I remember telling myself that I was just making sure he knew whom he belonged to, but I couldn't really believe that. I also remember asking myself why I spared him my anger, after all I am the Master and he the servant, whatever I do is fair because he is lower. I never could find a reason for that, and it was then that I began to worry about what was going on in my own mind.

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_I love the way you can't say no_

_- Figure You Out, Nickleback_

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Of course, there are also times when I find myself hurting him intentionally, diminishing the point of protecting him from the anger I feel after sex. I enjoy the way it feels when I do that too, but in a much different way. Also, part of me feels sick, no matter how much that one part of me thinks I'm enjoying it.

I like the way it feels to strike his flesh, feel it give in to pressure, break and bruise. I like to cut him, love the feel of organic blades pressed against flesh, feeling the softness yield to the sharpness. I like the way the deep crimson contrasts with the pale whiteness of his skin. But mostly what I like is the contradiction. Legato, by definition, means to be smooth, unbroken. Classical. Perfect. And yet he breaks so easily beneath my hands.

The thing about him that continuously amazes me is how after every hurt, after every torturous beating, he will go on worshiping me, serving me, as though I had done nothing.

There was a day, not so long ago now that I think on it, when I found myself so angry with him, for something so very simple. He had failed to inform me formally that my brother had been found, and though I already knew, it was the fact that such a thing could slip his mind that angered me.

I found him in his chambers, reading a book. The Fungi from Yugoth, I remember. I stepped into the room quietly, and he looked up from the book. He seemed to sense the anger on me, and very calmly slipped a marker into his book before closing it. His calm acceptance that he was about to be punished, for what he didn't even yet know, infuriated me. He stood and turned to me, I realized then he was taller than I was, by at least an inch.

He never said a word, and when I hit him his head snapped to one side. I curled my hand into a fist and drove it into his stomach and he fell back. I hated him in that moment, for his acceptance and limpness, for the fact that he just stood there allowing me to beat him in.

And yet for all the anger I felt towards him, I also felt a strange exhilaration, a high I suppose. I reached down and seized his neck in my hand, carefully denting his windpipe and cutting off his air. His eyes widened slightly, not with fear or panic, even surprise, but with simple reflex. I held him up for a moment, then dropped him in disgust, kicking his body. There was a bruise darkening where I had hit his face, and I felt a surge of wild pleasure at seeing it, along with a sharp pang of disgust.

I wanted this to stop, and yet I wanted to do more. I was hitting and kicking him as if to beat him to death, yet I couldn't bring myself to hit his face again this time.

He didn't move to block my blows or take them in places less sensitive, in fact, he didn't move at all. He just lay there allowing me to beat him with in an inch of his life. Suddenly, I stopped, and I looked at him. He was bleeding and bruised, and still he did not curl up, or try to protect himself. A wave of nausea washed over me and I shook my head. Why had I done that? Where had the point been in going that far?

Now, just as I felt after that first time having sex with him, I felt this horrible conflict, this confusion. I didn't know… what had gone through my head. I backed away from him and left him bleeding on his floor, knowing he would eventually be able to fix himself.

I do not know what I want from him any more. For what purpose I need him so badly. I want to kill him, and I want to love him. When he looks at me, actually looks at me, not that vacant stare reserved for taking orders and speaking to his subordinates, that strange feeling stirs in me, and I want him. But if he makes the tiniest slip, I find such pleasure in giving him pain.

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_I love your lack of self respect_

_While you're passed out on the deck_

_I love my hands around your neck_

_-Figure You Out, Nickleback_

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He allows me every whim I ask of him, at any time. His only contradiction to a situation would be location, and then only sometimes. I believe he worries not about someone seeing what we're doing (he can deal with them himself, and if he couldn't I would) but about them seeing him free of his mask, and me dirtying my hands on him.

He was on the balcony outside the library, sitting on the railing, watching the suns chase each other down. The lighting hit him in just such a way that he appeared to glow and my breath caught in my throat. He wasn't paying attention, or was choosing to ignore my presence, either way Legato did not acknowledge me at all, he was singing softly. I could only catch part of the song, "I like the way you're not impressed… while you put me to the test…" The way he sang it sounded slow, thoughtful, but I remembered the song from somewhere; it was fast, angry. I had the distinct impression that when Legato sang it, he changed a few things.

Two urges came through my head: To pull him to me, make love right here; and to push him off the balcony. I walked towards him, he still did not look at me. I knew he was acting now, there was no way he hadn't heard me by now. I grabbed his arm just above the elbow and pulled him around into a kiss, fierce and demanding. He had long since learned to comply with my demands, but he was always so damn hesitant, ready for blows to fall, but he kissed back slowly, allowing me to slip my tongue past his lips.

I pulled him away from the railing, still kissing him, and slid my hands down his back. His hands were cautiously placed around my waist, holding me close but not keeping me there. I broke the kiss and offered him a half smile that he attempted to return.

I cannot describe in English the way I feel when I'm with him. The words do not exist. I feel this strange rightness, this feeling that this is how things should be. And yet it makes no sense to me, because he is human. There is a wonderful feeling of lightness that I already described earlier, euphoria when our skin touches, and during it all, I remember who he is but not _what_ he is. I cry his name, and I do not even think that he is human.

He bit his lip and looked away, then looked at me. "Master I want to…" his face colored and I smiled.

"What? What do you want?" I tried not to laugh at him, but there are some things you just can't help. His cheeks were red and I turned his head, kissing him.

"I want to… Master, I do not know the proper…"

I had never seen him so agitated before, it was actually a rather interesting sight. I liked that I could do that to him. "Show me." I whispered in his ear, feeling him shiver.

He gave me one last unsure look before his hands flew to the zipper at the back of my collar, pulling it down. His eyes flashed apology for the action, but I just shook my head, wanting him to continue. His hands were shaking; I had to help him remove my suit. For a moment after it fell away he simply stared at me, and I thought perhaps all he had wanted was to see me. Then he slid down to his knees, licking his lips nervously.

His whole body was shaking, but I knew what he wanted and now I wanted it too. "Go on." I said huskily.

He took me gently in his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head of my erection, making me cry out. He stiffened and started to pull away, but I twined my fingers in his hair, trying to make him continue. He wrapped his lips tightly around me and pushed his head down, pulling my cock to the back of his throat, then slowly back out. He moved in such a way, exactly as I needed him, and it took me a moment to realize that he was pulling every action from my own head, taking what I wanted and doing it.

I had never felt something like this, something so unabashedly pleasing. I was moaning his name, begging him for more, forcing myself to stay still and allow him to do as he wanted. I would never understand why later, but something about him dominating my senses in that moment… it was one of those memories that will last forever.

I pushed him away before I could find my release. He fell back on the ground, looking surprised but pleased with himself. He was breathing heavily, just as I was, and his cheeks were still colored. I found myself on top of him, pinning down and kissing him while I tore at his clothing, thanking God he wasn't wearing that coat again (I had by this time learned that it is one of the most difficult garments to remove, surpassing even Vash's famed bondage suit).

As soon as he was as naked as I was, I spread his legs once again, looking for something to make this easier. I found nothing, though I don't know what I expected; we were on the library balcony. "Dammit." I muttered in frustration.

He looked up at me, and I felt a strange fluttering I my stomach and chest when our eyes met and I saw the trust in his eyes. "Please, Master," he said, "Just do it."

Without hesitation I lifted his legs a little bit more and thrust up into him, hearing him cry out. He was so warm beneath me, moaning and begging me for more, and I began to thrust slowly into him. He wrapped his arms around behind my neck, now too caught up in our act for such petty façade as restraint, and I bent over him, kissing him. One of my hands slipped between us, wrapping around his length, stroking him in time with my thrusts. He cried out and I silenced him with I nip to his throat.

The funny thing about monogamy, whether its intentional or not, is that your body becomes accustomed to your partner's, allowing you to match your lover. So it was with Legato and me. After many times, we knew how to move against each other, dragging the act out, making it more pleasing for each other.

Legato's nails bit into my shoulders and I hissed. He didn't know what he was doing, but it was okay, I liked the way that felt. He arched against me, rocking his hips as he came, and as I always found, that was all it took. Just the idea that I could get him off brought my own release.

He lay back on the deck after I pulled away, his energy spent. I knew I had to get away from him quickly, before I hurt him. Already the disgust was there, confusion and anger stirring in my stomach. I glanced at Legato as I fumbled with my suit, and saw he was already dozing, naked on the balcony. Before I could think of what I was doing, or stop myself, or really do much of anything, I was kneeling over him, half dressed, my hands on his neck. He continued to lie there, and I pressed down, shortening his air supply. One eye, glazed in sleep cracked lazily open and glanced at me, then slipped back shut. He lay there beneath my hands and moved no more, resigned to death for nothing.

My hands trembled and I released him, finishing my dressing and leaving him. I went to my chambers, and locked the doors, unable to bear the thought of seeing him again.

I think, perhaps, the contradiction is not just in Legato. His existence, his life and purpose are a contradiction to his very name, and his very body betrays him, yes, he is a contradiction. But perhaps I have become… perhaps I am a contradiction as well. I want him, I love his body, and yet I hate him, I would kill him. But when he looks at me, even in times of my most extreme anger, I abate, melt for him. What is it that he holds over me… Just a human, and yet I cannot stop thinking about him. He consumes my thoughts and dreams, even worming his way into my hopes of Eden. Everything about it is a contradiction to my belief, and every action I take is a contradiction to the next. I love him, and then I hurt him. Constant contradictions… everything I do has become a contradiction, and I don't know what it is about him that makes it happen.

God… What's wrong with my mind?

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End

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A/N: Ah yes... the smut... Originaly that was gonna be a chapter in (Just) Human, but it didn't fit so great. Review!


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